


In a Nutshell (volume one)

by ButterflyGhost



Series: In a Nutshell [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Childhood, F/M, Family, Loss, Love, Marriage, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 20,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy is father to the man. </p><p>Stories from Benny's early childhood. </p><p>(Volume One, complete)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one, two...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to SLWalker for beta reading, and sharing her extensive knowledge of Mounties and police work. Any mistakes are mine.

Bob watched them through the window.

Little Benny was playing with Caroline, and Caroline was smiling, her hair swinging loose as she threw the boy up into the air and caught him, threw him and caught. Little Benny was smiling, wriggling like a puppy, giggling and petting her face, and she was laughing, and smothering him in kisses. 

Bob rested his head against the glass, and wished he could step into the picture without destroying it.

He should wait till he'd sobered up, he thought. Why did he do this every time?

He ended up sleeping with the dogs.  
…

Benny fell asleep half way through the story. Caroline lifted him, and let him lie on her shoulder for a little bit longer than she needed to, enjoying the sweet, slumberous warmth of him. He wasn't a baby any more, except when he was sleeping. He was such a boy now. At times she could almost see the man he would be. Something in his smile, that easy confidence. When he was awake he was moving, when he was moving he was exploring. Every time she turned her back he would be off somewhere, into something, climbing something, jumping from something. It terrified her, at the same time as flooding her with pride. They'd go for a walk, and he'd be burrowing into the snow, climbing rocks, bottom sliding across the ice. They'd go to feed the dogs and he'd be running around making barking noises, or rolling with them, all in a tumble, giggling as they licked his face. 

She'd never realised till he was born just how much love she had in her. She thought she loved Bob, but when Benny came her love grew with him. Everyday she found more to love in him, and loving him she loved his father more.

Ah, Benny. She kissed his cloud of hair, and wondered would it still be curly when he was a man? He was soft, and he was silk, and he was velvet. His plush little mouth was parted in a pout, and it hurt to look at him, he was so beautiful. Still a baby when he slept. She laid him in his cot, pulled up the blankets and tucked him in. His fingers drifted to his mouth and he smiled in his sleep.

She smiled too, then looked through the window. She sighed. Part of her knew she should just check in on him, make sure he was warm enough, and let him sleep it off. But it was cold outside, and even with the dogs for warmth it wasn't much of a homecoming. She'd missed him.  
…

Bob was running in his dream, across endless night. Not even snow, no stars to guide him. Somehow he had gotten himself turned around, and he just couldn't seem to find his way home...

“Bob.” At first he thought the voice was part of his dream, an answer to the nightmare. Then he woke up enough to see that she really was standing there. Then he saw the exasperated affection on her face, and realised that he wasn't lost at all.

“Caroline.” He sat up, rubbing his face. It felt as leathery and numb as the mittens which protected his fingers. 

“Come in Bob,” she said gently, “it's too cold to be out after dark.”

“I'm okay,” he protested, trying to assert some independence. “I sleep outside all the time.”

“Not bellied up on liquor you don't.” She had her eyebrow arched at a particularly magisterial angle, and he found himself laughing.

“No, no... you're right, I don't...”

“You know I don't like that friend of yours, Gerrard...”

“I know, I know, he's a bad influence...”

“Well, that too. Come on love.” She leant down, looped an arm around his back, and hoisted him to his feet. The dogs grumbled, and he swayed as she led him from the barn.

“Oh sorry love, I'm sorry... the ground doesn't want to stay steady.”

“It's not the ground dear.”

“You know I love you?” It was maudlin, but it was true.

“Yes dear, whatever you say.”

“No seriously, I do, I really really love you.

“Yes, I know. So will you in the morning. Now shush up and come in quietly. You don't want to wake up the baby.”

“Oh, Benny...” he started trying to pat his pockets. “I got him a present...”

“You can give it to him tomorrow. Shush.”

“You know, I'm sorry...”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

She got him through the door, and started brushing out his clothes. He turned, put his arm around her, not just to steady himself, but to pull her into an embrace. She leaned into it for a moment, kissing him, then pulled back, with a little moue of disgust. “Oh Bob, you smell like a distillery.”

“Come here Caroline,” he pulled his gloves off and dropped them on the floor, starting to push his fingers through her long woollens and layers, seeking the softness beneath. Firmly she placed her hands on his shoulders, and propelled him to a chair. It hit up against the back of his legs, and he dropped into it.

“Not now Bob, tomorrow, when you know what you're doing.”

“I know what I'm doing...”

“Yes, I'm sure you do, but I'd like to enjoy it too you know.” 

“I'll make it worth your while...” he said teasingly.

“No, the state you're in you'll fall asleep on top of me and I'll have to roll you off the bed just to be able to breathe. So, much as I love you Bob, not tonight.”

“You're a hard woman to love Caroline.” He knew he was pouting, but really... 

She shook her head, and brought a blanket to the chair. “And you're a hard man to love Bob, but I love you anyway.” She dropped a kiss on his forehead, moved back quickly before he could turn it into something more. “I'm going to sleep in Benny's room, so you stay put, and we'll talk in the morning.”

“I love you Caroline,” he mumbled out as she left the room. 

She glanced over her shoulder, and that expression returned, an amused fondness. She quirked a slightly wistful smile. “I know sweetheart, I know.”  
…

The headache was snowblind white, and whatever noise Benny was making was nails and a lump hammer.

Benny...

He opened his eyes, and there the boy was, running around and around the table, arms sticking out on either side, banging into the chairs on each turn, and squealing... “wheeee!”

“Does he have to do that?”

Caroline was sitting on one of the chairs, eating oatmeal. She raised her eyes coolly to Bob's question, then blew gently on her spoon.

“Please, Caroline, does he have to do that?”

“Apparently.”

“Apparently?”

“He's being a biplane.”

“A biplane... what?”

“Trapper was by here a couple of weeks ago. Ever since then Benny's been a biplane any chance he can.”

“That's... wonderful. Can he stop?”

“I don't see why he should.”

“I have a headache!”

“It's not his fault.”

Bob mashed his fists into his face and groaned. “I thought you weren't mad at me.”

“I'm not.”

“Well, you're punishing me.”

“I think your metabolism is doing the punishing.” She sighed, and relented, plucking Benny from his endless perambulations, and plonking him on her knee. He wriggled, fiercely, attempting to escape her grasp, but she started to tickle him, making raspberry noises on his belly button. Within a minute he was squealing with giggles, and trying to return the tickles.

“That's no better,” Bob grumbled, “does that kid do nothing but make noise?”

“He's a child, Bob, that's what children do.”

“All right, all right... I'm sorry.” He realised he was being unreasonable, and he wasn't exactly happy about it. “I'll just... I'll get some water.”

“Do you want tea? The kettle's on.”

“Yes, yes... thank you. Tea will be fine.”

She stood, and put Benny on the floor. “Go see your Daddy,” she said, and patted him on the bottom. For a blessed moment the boy went silent. Bob looked at his son, and his son looked at him. Benny smiled first. Suddenly recognising the stranger in the comfy chair the boy's face went radiant. He threw his arms up in the air and yelled “Daddy!” It shot through Bob's head like a hot spike, but he was still on his knees with his arms open when the boy ran straight towards him. Benny burrowed and wriggled, and tried to climb inside his coat. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy...”

If ever there was a cure for a hangover, it was that boy's hugs.  
…

Mommy and Daddy were swinging him. “One, two, whee!” First Mommy said it, then Daddy said it. “One, two, whee!” Benny moved his mouth around the words, saying them silently, pulling with his hands to make them go faster. Daddy was laughing, and Mommy was laughing back, and “one, two, whee!” he was flying through the air.

“No, no, no...” Benny pouted. They had stopped walking for a moment, and he looked up. Above him he could see their two faces touching, and Daddy's other hand curving round Mommy's cheek. He pulled their hands urgently. Mommy's other hand was on Daddy's arm now, moving up and down it.

Not fair...

He bounced up and down to get their attention. They stopped kissing, and looked down at him.

“One, two, whee?” He gazed at them pleadingly.

Daddy laughed again, reached down, grabbed him. “One, two, whee!” He threw him up into the air, higher and faster than Mommy ever did, and Benny screamed with laughter. “One, two, whee!”  



	2. sabotage

The knock came, as it almost inevitably did, at the worst possible moment.

“Bob,” she buried her fingers in his hair and held on tight. “Don't you dare answer that door, don't you dare...”

He hung above her, frozen. “They wouldn't come out here at this time of night if it wasn't important.”

“This is important,” she said, petulantly, and snagged his bottom lip with her teeth. He groaned and pushed back down, wrapping his arms around her lower back.

Then the knock came again. She sighed, and slumped away from him, disengaging herself. “I'm sorry, you'll have to see who it is.”

“Well, I can't see them like this.” He had a point. “I mean, look at me, I can barely walk!” She followed his gaze to his erection, and giggled. He glowered, with mock threat. “Don't laugh at it, not if you want it to be there when you get back.” Still giggling she unfolded herself from the bed, threw on a dressing gown, and padded to the door.

“This had better be good,” she declared, swinging it open.

“Caroline,” a deep voice addressed her from the patch of night outside the cabin.

“Buck!” If it had been anybody else she would have bitten their head off. Despite the circumstances, however, she was pleased to see him. “What brings you here? Please tell me it's not RCMP business...”

“I'm afraid it is... I need to speak to Bob.”

“You could have tried the damn radio,” Bob was standing behind her now, dressed in a surfeit of blankets, giving Buck 'the look'... as in, 'can't you see I'm busy you great fool, come back in an hour.'

“Well, I did try the radio... but you weren't picking up.”

Caroline cleared her throat. “I'm sorry... I may have had something to do with that.” Bob and Buck both gawped at her, and she put her hands up, apologised again. “It was only temporary, I would have got around to fixing it...”

“That's RCMP property Caroline," Bob's voice contended with admiration and astonishment. "You just sabotaged police property!”

“Well,” she smirked at him. “You'll just have to arrest me then.”

“Ahem...” Buck stepped backward. “On closer consideration, the case that I have to talk to Bob about can wait till morning. We can't travel in the dark, and I'll just... well, I'll just...” he looked over his shoulder. “I'll sleep with the dogs.”

“Oh, Buck... I can't let you...”

“Yes she can.” Bob grinned. “Don't worry Caroline, he's sober as a judge, he won't die of exposure.”

“He's absolutely right, I'll be fine.”

“You're a good friend Buck.” Bob grinned mischievously. “Here, have a blanket.”


	3. teddy bear

He woke to the motherly ministrations of Holly, the matriarch of Caroline's dogs. 

“Hey, stop licking me, I'm not one of your babies...”

Holly applied her tongue all the more eagerly, and he smiled despite the rude awakening. “Come here, you mutt,” he growled affectionately, hooking a hand behind the husky's head and scratching her neck through her thick ruff. “Good morning to you, too.” He sat up and stretched, his back popping, and yawned massively. The dogs suddenly started clamouring, and he got to his feet. Obviously their breakfast was on the way.

“Hi Buck.” Caroline was smiling at the door. “Just let me feed the troops, then us mere humans can have our breakfast.” 

“Can I help?”

“Just hold Benny for me.”

“Wow,” he said, as he took the bleary eyed toddler in his arms. “He's getting big, ain't he?”

“Bigger every day. Seems like every day I have to take out his clothes a little more or stitch him up new shoes.”

“He's running around now I guess... must be hard on shoes.”

“Yes... or hard on my back.” She laughed. “He still rides up on my back when we go out on the dog sleigh, or hunting, especially when the weather's bad.”

“It looks like it will be a hard winter this time.”

“Yes. I'm busy getting the supplies in.”

“We'll bring you by some provisions before it really sets in cold. Anything in particular you'd like?”

“Dried fruit, if you can.”

“You got enough flour?”

“Yes... we could do with more wood. I know I can chop some, but it's hard with a baby on your back.”

“You hear that, Benny?” Buck spoke solemnly to the sleepy child. “You'll have to grow up strong to help your mother.”

“Mommy,” Benny said through his fist. Buck smiled. 

“That's right. You help your Mommy.”

“Buck,” the boy declared, and Buck's heart did a little stutter stop.

“Did you hear that? Did you hear that, Caroline? He knows me!”

“Of course he knows you. He's two and a bit, not stupid.”

“No, I mean... that's the first time he used my name.”

Caroline straightened up from feeding the dogs, put her hand on her hip, and tilted a radiant smile in their direction. “You know the best thing about having Benton in my life? Every day is another first. I'm glad I saw this one.”

Buck gave the boy a kiss on his forehead, and Benny kissed him back. “Buck.”

“Come on in now,” she said. “Time we all had breakfast.”  
…

The men ate rapidly, and Buck got his apologies out of the way.

“I'm sorry I barged in on you last night, but when nobody answered the radio I thought there might be a problem. Really, it isn't urgent enough for me to have rushed off like that.”

“It's all right.” Bob was still giving Caroline smug glances when he thought Buck wasn't looking. “I didn't realise I'd married a saboteur.”

“Well, anyway... if we set off now I can fill you in on the way.” He glanced at Caroline apologetically. “It's RCMP business... we have to keep it to ourselves.”

“I understand,” she said, ladling more oatmeal into their bowls. “I do know how it works after all this time.”

Bob gave her a regretful look. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know you will, love.”

“And I'll radio you when I'm in range.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “You keep an eye on him for me, Buck.”

“You know I will.”

“And try to keep him away from bars.”

“I'll do my best.”

“He's not my nanny, Caroline,” Bob blurted out. “I don't need a babysitter.”

“I'm just saying.”

Bob scowled a little bit, as he scraped the last of his second helping from the bowl. 

She sighed. “Don't go away mad at me.”

He stood up, pushing his chair back, and leaned over the table. “I can't be mad at you,” he said, and kissed her.

“Here, I packed your stuff for you,” she said, retreating into practicality. It would never do for her to get emotional at this point. “The dogs have been fed, I got their provender all ready while you were eating. I'll see you as soon as you can get back.”

“All right, dear.” He kissed her again, then reached down and ruffled Benny's hair. The boy had just woken up properly, and was standing at his feet. He stretched up his arms and called “Daddy.” Bob picked him up, stood him on the table, and spoke man to man. “I'm sorry, son. Daddy's got to go to work now.” Damn it, the boy started crying. “Here, you take him Caroline.”

She took him, and walked with Bob and Buck to the door. Bob was looking miserable now, and she hated to see him like that. All closed down, and with his back to her, heading out for God knew how long. “Bob...” she said, and he turned. “Be safe.”

“I'm always safe,” he said, and looked away. “Here, I forgot to give him his present.” He fished around in his pockets and pulled out a teddy bear. Benny was still crying, and Bob didn't look at his son as he handed him the stuffed toy. Benny took it, and pushed his wet face into the fur.

“Don't worry, Caroline,” Buck said as Bob went to tidy up the dogs. “I'll look after him.”

She smiled, though her throat was tight with sorrow. “I know you will, Buck. Thank you.”

And just like that, they were gone. She watched them for a long time, vanishing into the distance.


	4. the nurse

It was nice and warm in here. Benny burrowed his head into the nape of Mommy's neck, and hid under her hair. She had her hood up, and he could barely feel the snow. The odd trickle of water got through, and he licked it off his nose. He liked the hiss of the snow as they glided over it, and the huff and gentle thunder of the dogs.

He wondered where they were going.

Sometimes Mommy swayed, and sometimes she pulled back to slow the dogs down, and even though he was a very big boy he was sleepy. So he pulled Teddy closer to his face, and dozed. Dozed and dreamed of Daddy riding a big dog like it was a horse, and him and Mommy building a snowman, and all three of them, Benny and Mommy and the snowman, holding hands and dancing in a circle waiting for Daddy to come and make the party complete.  
…

Caroline saw the igloo coming into sight, and pulled the dogs to a halt. Her arms already ached, and she hadn't half finished the day's work yet. At least Benny was asleep. She could feel his snuffling breath against her back.

Shesh, the man of the family, was standing outside waving. Caroline checked the lines rapidly, ensuring that the dogs were safe, and hopped off the sled.

“How is she?” 

The man replied in Inuktitut. “I don't know what to do, she's never had a problem before.”

“Don't be afraid,” she replied in her own heavily accented Inuktitut. “Your wife is a strong woman.” Her very name meant strength, now that Caroline thought of it. She looked intently at Shesh, and realised just how scared he was. To give him something to do that wouldn't get in her way she suggested. “Can you feed my dogs? The food is in that bag.”

He nodded, grateful, and stepped aside to see to the animals. Caroline crouched down and crept into the igloo.

It was quite bright inside. She stood, and looked around. It was a new structure, dug deep into the snow, walls and roof thrown up rapidly when the family realised they could travel no further. No ice from their breath had formed yet on the inner walls. Shesh must have finished it not long before her arrival... he had kept himself busy while waiting for help to come. The family had been on their way to Caroline when the labour started, a week or two early. Blue light bled through the lines where the bricks joined, and outside the snow had stopped falling. They were fortunate that they were in the narrow band of winter daylight, and she could see the labouring woman bundled in furs in the corner of the room. Shesh had already brought in hot stones to set along side her, and the interior of the structure was very warm.

Nukilik's face was sweating, and terrified, and she looked grey. Her three children, ranging between seven years and sixteen months old were huddled in the corner. The seven year old girl seemed to be the only one who knew what was happening. Caroline got down on her knees, and removed the sleeping Benny from her back. She turned to the little girl. “Ublureak, can you look after the little ones while I look after your mother?” The frightened child nodded, and held her arms out for Benny. Caroline handed him to her, and kissed the girl's head. “I delivered you. You were your mother's first, and it was hard for her then too. I will do my best.” She wished she could promise better, but nothing was ever certain when a woman came to child bed. 

“Okay,” she muttered to herself under her breath, washing her hands with iodine. She looked to the mother, reassuringly. “I'm going to look and see what's happening. You must not be afraid. Let me look.” The mother groaned, and her back bucked. Caroline put her arms around her, and held her through the contraction. Once it was over she knelt between the woman's legs, and looked. 

Six inches dilated, just about. Putting her hand in she felt for the baby... Ah, there was the problem. The child was the wrong way round. She smiled up at the mother reassuringly. “Next time you want to push, do this.” She pulled what her own mother had called “the puffin face” and huffed through it. “It will help you not to push.” The woman nodded, remembering how to do this, and started huffing. Caroline smiled her approval, and turned, shouting through the entrance. “Shesh, you can come in.” The man crawled into the warm white room, carrying another hot stone wrapped up in furs, blinking his anxiety. Caroline smiled. “Do you have a blanket, a big blanket, that we can put your wife on?” He nodded, placing the stone with the others. “It needs to bear her weight. We're going to rock her.” 

“Rock her?”

“It will help the baby turn around.”

“Yes,” he pulled a long skin from the children's bedding. They shifted as he pulled it out, and the littlest one cried. Ublureak kissed him, still cuddling Benny. 

“Good girl, Ublureak,” Caroline said, to reassure her. “Nukilik,” she turned to the mother. “We're going to lift you now. Be brave.” The woman's eyes rolled in her head as they lifted her across, but she did not scream. Once she was on the sheet Caroline reached out her hand and stroked the woman's face. “Don't bite your lips,” she said. “Be a puffin,” she pulled the face and huffed, and Nukilik almost laughed before the next contraction hit her. Caroline looked across at Shesh. She had to say this in English... she could never remember how to count in Inuktitut. “On the count of three. One, two...”

“Three,” they spoke together and lifted Nukilik as though she was on a stretcher. 

Caroline smiled at the man, and spoke again in his language. “We will rock her, side to side. Follow me.” Ideally they should have at least four to rock her, since they needed to do so vigorously, but they would have to make do. Nukilik was moaning, but remembering to huff. Caroline and Shesh worked up a rhythm, and a sweat. Time was measured only by the left right, left right pulse of the swaying blanket, and the woman's contractions. 

Suddenly Nukilik cried out, and put her hand on her belly. She spoke for the first time. “She's moving. I feel her move.”

“Good girl,” Caroline grinned. “Keep your hand on your belly. You know what she should feel like, you've had babies before. Tell me when you feel her body in the right place.”

“Now, I feel her now,” the woman was crying.

“Thank God,” Caroline signalled with her eyes to Shesh that they could put Nukilik down. Once she was back down Caroline pointed him to her pack. “In there is a gas stove. Use it to boil some snow. And the iodine, the brown smelly stuff in a bottle. Pour it into the pans, and put in the scissors, and the rope.” The man nodded, and did as he was told.

Caroline turned her attention back to her patient, who was now pushing in earnest, fully dilated. “Good woman, you can do it. You can do it... breathe, breathe and... PUSH.” 

Now that the baby was turned Nukilik's body took over, and things began to progress as nature intended. Within forty minutes a new child was in the world, blessedly perfect, crying her lungs out. The whole family, even the toddler, were standing around staring at her astonished. The parents were full of joy, and Caroline knew that Nukilik had already forgotten the pain. She had never understood how that could happen until she'd had Benny, alone in a barn, without even the dogs for company. At the time she had been certain that she would die, all her training completely useless to her as the pain drove everything from her mind. And yet the moment he slid into the world, the moment she took him in her arms, all the pain stopped. She smiled at the other mother, and envied her that moment, that pure and unadulterated joy that changed the whole world forever.

Benny stood with the other children, gazing solemn eyed at the little baby. Caroline busied herself, almost unnoticed, cleaning up the afterbirth, and making sure there were no tears in it. Nukilik was already feeding the little girl, who made contented noises before falling asleep with a belch.

All was well. Caroline began to clean herself up, and wearily pulled on her outer furs, swinging Benny back into his papoose. It was already going dark outside, the truncated day swallowed up by night. The stars would be out to guide them home.

As she readied the dogs Shesh came back out, smiling at her. “I will bring you food,” he said, “soon. And furs for your boy.”

“Thank you Shesh,” Caroline smiled. “But look after your baby first. And if you need any help, send the dog again with a message. If I'm not on another visit I'll come straight to you.”

“I know. Thank you. Thank you for saving my wife and baby.”

“It's my great happiness to do so,” she replied, mentally berating herself for the stilted sentence. Really, she should do better with her Inuktitut. She sketched a salute at him, a habit she had picked up from being around Mounties so much, and stood on the sleigh, behind the dogs.

Time to go.

Inside the igloo the mother and baby slept safely. As Caroline went Ublureak stepped out beside her father, and took his hand. They watched the nurse and her son disappearing into the night as the stars came out.


	5. radio

“I think it's time I got you a snowmobile Caroline.” Bob's voice crackled over the radio, and Caroline hunkered in as close to it as she could get. She was sitting in the truck, curled around a cup of warm cocoa. Thank God for Buck Frobisher, she thought. He'd remembered his promise, and though neither he nor Bob could come in person they had sent bundles of provisions with Trapper on the biplane. Benny had gone wild with excitement emptying out the boxes, divesting them of jars of jam and pickled fruit, and had managed to get into a tin of powdered milk, which he proceeded to eat by the sticky fistful. That night he'd gone to sleep with a belly full of warm milk, sweetened with honey, and she suspected he was going to demand it with every meal from henceforth.

Cocoa... just what she needed. A snow mobile... not so much so.

“Bob, I really don't need a snowmobile. You know I like the dogs, they keep me company, and there are times you can't really get a snowmobile over more difficult terrain.”

“So have both. Keep the dogs for an emergency, and the snowmobile for everyday use.”

“How can we afford to run a snowmobile?” She shook her head with exasperation, even though he couldn't see it. “We're not that well off, in case you hadn't noticed. There's just your wage... nobody pays me in cash. It's not like I can barter caribou hides for gas. We just can't afford the fuel.” Then she chuckled. “Besides, I think you're just getting carried away because you Mounties get to swan around on them. I'm telling you, it's not my cup of tea.” All of those were valid reasons, but there was another one she wasn't going to share with her husband. She didn't want to admit that she was nervous about using a new mode of transport when she had to take Benny with her. Bob might be used to snowmobiles, but she wasn't. She had brutal visions of her and Benny flying off the damned thing and landing in a broken heap... She shook her head to banish the image. Maybe when he was older...

“All right then,” Bob conceded grudgingly. “I just don't like thinking of you out there all by yourselves with no emergency transport.”

“That's what the dogs are for. So we're not by ourselves. And besides, winter doesn't last forever. I'm remembering to keep turning over the engine on this thing so the battery doesn't go dead. Come spring we'll be able to drive, if we have to.”

“Humph.” He sounded gruff on the other end of the radio. She shared his frustration at their distance, and sighed, leaning forward and placing her elbow on the dashboard. She had a quick flash of fantasy, and imagined grabbing Benny and some bags, leaping into the truck and then flooring it, driving off into the night to find Bob. An impossible daydream. He wasn't even allowed to tell her his exact location, and besides, the weather had rendered the vehicle useless for the time being.

She listened to the silence, and closed her eyes, as though she could see him somehow in the dark. She felt like a lovesick schoolgirl. 

“I wish I could give you a hug,” she said softly.

“I wish I could give you more than a hug.” 

“Bob!” She giggled despite herself at the cheek in his voice, spluttering cocoa, and wondered how much he'd had to drink. “You know anyone could listen in on this frequency.”

“You want to give them something worth listening to?”

“You're a very bad man, Bob Fraser.”

“You're the one who married me.”

“I didn't know what I was getting into.”

“So...” she could hear him grinning, somewhere away in the winter darkness. “What are you wearing Caroline?”

“Oh no,” she was laughing out loud now, trying to muffle it behind her hand and completely failing. “You'll just have to wait till you see me. I'm not putting on a show for anyone in transmission distance.”

“Ah well, I'll have to dream about you instead.”

“Me too. I mean, dream about you, not me.”

He sighed and she heard his regret. “I'm sorry Caroline, I have to go now.”

“I know honey. Thank you for all the goodies.”

“You're welcome sweetheart.”

“And say thank you to Buck too.”

“Will do.”

Silence for a long moment.

“Benny loves his teddy bear. He carries it with him everywhere.”

“That's good...”

Silence.

It was that stage in the conversation where neither of them knew what to say, because neither of them wanted to be the one to say goodbye. 

“I'll see you soon,” she said finally, and bit her lip, clicking the radio off before they could get sentimental.

Damn, she thought, and brushed her face. Sometimes she hated his job.


	6. milk and honey

One dark morning Benny decided that he was the man of the house.

“Benny feed doggies.”

“Thank you kindly Benny, yes... you can help feed the dogs.”

“No.” Benny glared at her. “Mommy have breakfast, Benny feed doggies.”

Caroline stared at him. Maybe it was a case of her being a mother, and like all mothers thinking her child was a prodigy... but wasn't he a bit ahead of himself developmentally? Maybe it was because he was an only child and got all her attention, but his character was forming so forcefully. It hit her again with a shock that this little person had come from her and Bob. 

“Mommy's had breakfast,” she fibbed. “How about you feed the dogs and let Mommy help?”

He stood and thought about it, his tongue tucked firmly in his cheek, forcing a bulge in his face. Eventually he nodded, 'yes'. “Benny feed doggies, and Mommy help.”

That arrangement seemed to work. Of course, it took three times longer than usual to feed the dogs, and they looked rather puzzled by the whole operation, but it got done, and Benny was happy.

“Benny want breakfast,” he then declared.

“Oatmeal?”

“Milk and honey.”

“And oatmeal.”

“Milk and honey.”

“You won't get your milk and honey till you've eaten your oatmeal.”

Benny scowled, but knew when he was beat. “Oatmeal, then milk and honey.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” She smiled, preparing their breakfast. “Then I'll have a second helping, and we'll go out to finish stacking the wood.”  
…

She had been working for about an hour, stacking the wood up into a wall, when she heard the snowmobile. Grabbing Benny (who had long given up pretending to help, and was climbing and jumping, and climbing and jumping,) she began to run towards the sound. The sun had not yet risen, would not do so for several hours yet, but the clear night reflected off the snow, giving good visibility. Holding Benny on her hip she stared at the snowmobile, praying that it was Bob.

The figure saw her, and lifted an arm in recognition. Her heart leapt. It was him, it was Bob.

She stood for a moment, wondering whether to run towards him, or to take the more practical step of going into the house and putting the kettle on. 

In the end Benny decided it for her. With a firm wriggle he wrenched himself away from her as hard as he could. She deposited him on the snow and let him run, with his arms up in the air, down the cleared path, shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!!!”

Bob skidded the thing to a halt, jumped off it, and scooped his son up in his arms. Caroline ran and put her arms around his neck, and kissed. Oh, he smelled good. Sweaty, and warm, and sober, and he hadn't shaved for days.

“Come in, come in...” she was trying to talk with her lips up against his face, and blushed, drawing back. She took his hand, and led him home. Her cheeks ached with the smile. “Come in and tell me everything...”  
…

And Benny was happy, and she was happy, and Bob was happy. And Benny didn't even need Teddy to fall asleep with, because he was curled on Daddy's knee. And when he was fully asleep they tucked him up in bed, and stood looking at him breathe. 

And then Bob's hand is sliding around her waist, under her clothes, fingers on skin. And it's been so long...

And she's turning to him, face to face, standing on tiptoe, because she's barefoot and he's still in his boots. And she wants to get them off him, and she wants to get everything else off him too.

She smooths a hand inside his clothing, and down towards his bum, giggling at the schoolgirl word in her head. Arse, she thinks. He prefers it when she calls it his arse. “Come on,” she whispers. “Come to bed.”

He moves to kiss her, and she pulls away. “The baby,” she whispers, and steps backward out of the door, her finger hooked on his belt, dragging him with her. He smiles obediently, and follows.

And they're pulling each other's clothes off, and his hands are all over her, and her hands are all over him, and then, oh they'll never make it to the bedroom. Mouths, and his smell, that warm man stink, and his beard rasping against her, and tongues... and... and... his legs are urgent between hers, and she wraps herself around him, bites his shoulder, and he groans. And they've gone bang into the wall, and her hands are on his... on his arse, and he's pushing with his hips, and she holds on tight, swings her legs high around his waist, and...  
…

Benny wakes briefly, and hears his parents playing in the living room. He returns his thumb to his mouth, and falls back asleep.  
…

That damned radio.

Bob looked flat out shocked at the message. “I'm sorry Caroline, I'm so sorry. I have to go.”

“I know.” She spoke dully, stirring the pan for Benny's breakfast. For once, just for once, she had thought they might have Christmas together.

“I'll be back,” he promised. “I'll try to be back for Christmas...”

“Don't make promises you can't keep. You know yourself you could be gone for weeks.” Months even, she thinks, but does not say.

“Damn it,” he exploded, causing Benny to stare up with wide eyes. “You know it's not my fault, Caroline.”

“I know, I know.” She blinked back actual tears, and cursed herself. She didn't want to be 'that woman', the one men complained about behind their backs. The tearful 'nag', the 'ball and chain'. She wanted to be his companion. His partner.

She was more than equal to this. She steeled herself, and turned to him. “It's all right Bob,” she stated calmly, “you have your duty. I know that. And I'm glad that we saw as much of you as we did.” She gave him a small smirk. “And I'm extremely glad I saw as much of you as I did...”

Bob grinned with palpable relief that she was giving him an out.

“So, you're a Mountie,” she gave him a light slap on his arm. “Go get your man.”

“Yes Sir,” he saluted.

And when they kissed at the door, they almost made it seem like it wasn't breaking their hearts.

This time when Bob left Benny didn't cry. The snowmobile grumbled into life and headed off into the distance. Benny clutched Teddy, and turned his back, to not see Daddy go away.


	7. christmas cheer

Muldoon was leaning at the bar, talking to Gerrard when the door opened letting in the cold air, and Bob Fraser with it. 

“Over here,” Muldoon raised his glass. “You look like a man who needs a drink...”

“Well, maybe one,” Bob said uncertainly. 

Muldoon crooked his finger at the bar tender, tapped his glass indicating 'more of the same.' “So,” he continued to Bob, “you look like something the cat dragged in.”

“Awh, it's just this time of year, you know, a man wants to be with his family...”

Muldoon laughed. “The little woman giving you grief, eh?” It was a mistake. Bob glared at him. 

“I don't know who you're thinking about, but Caroline is not a 'little woman', and you know that damned well. I'd like to see you talk that way to your face, you'd never survive it.”

Muldoon made a conciliatory gesture. “I'm sorry Bob, I forget... you married Caroline Pinsent, a queen among women. If she'd been born a man she'd have been a doctor, I know, I shouldn't put her down... she's well thought of round here...” The bartender plonked a tumbler with whiskey in it opposite Muldoon, and he slid it to Bob. “Go on then, drink up.”

Bob looked at the amber fluid thoughtfully, as it slopped around the glass. 

“You gonna drink that,” Gerrard cut in humorously, “or paint a picture?”

Bob jerked his head. “Sorry, I was away with the fairies.”

Gerrard pulled up a stool. “Sit down, you're making me tired just standing there. Join us in a drink.”

Bob sat wearily at the bar, lifted the tumbler, sniffed, and put it down. “I've got to be off in the morning. They're briefing me at oh eight hundred hours, and then I've got to be on my way. You know, really I shouldn't...”

“Oh come on, one won't hurt.”

Bob lifted the tumbler again, then shrugged. “What the hell.” He grimaced and downed it in one.

“That's more like it.” Muldoon grinned, and lifted his hand again to signal the bartender for more.  
…

This was, without a doubt, the stupidest assignment they had yet given him. Bob Fraser sat in the ramshackle cabin, with his radio crackling static, and cursed life in general, and the RCMP in particular. A case of such national security that he didn't know himself what he was supposed to be doing up here. Monitoring a wide stretch of the interior of the Arctic circle, reporting on... what? Lights in the sky? Voices cackling over the radio? There were always going to be ghosts on the radio. And here he was, transcribing snatches of voices from who knew where in who knew what languages? 

Not that he was completely helpless when it came to languages. And for that he blamed his mother. She'd made a big deal of his education, and though he knew she meant well, he couldn't help resenting the fact that he was sitting here on Christmas day, when he should have been home. If the RCMP hadn't decided he was some kind of linguist he'd be eating roast something or other by now, instead of munching on pemmican. 

He was half tempted to invent something just to wind them up. Chinese, he thought, that would really scare them... But, he thought, that was just whiskey talking. Like most things, it wouldn't seem so funny in the morning.

He stepped out of the cabin, and let the radio hiss away inside. The generator was humming along nicely, and it was warm inside, but for right now he preferred the open sky. It actually wasn't that cold in his furs. Lying on his bedroll, all muffled up, he stared up at the stars, waiting for the moment his contact would radio in asking for an update. And even the updates were a mystery, since the codes were so damned complicated he had no idea what he was saying half the time.

He propped himself up on his elbow, and took a swig of his drink. He knew he should be trying to make it last, but he was supposed to be celebrating. Peace on earth and all that... “Happy Christmas, Caroline,” he said to the empty night, and took another swig. “Happy Christmas Benny.”

He dropped his head back onto his mat and shut his eyes against the brilliant stars. Damn it. Damn, damn, damn. He wished that he was home.


	8. coming home

Teddy had a secret name, and the secret name was Daddy. But that was a big big secret, and nobody else would ever know. Benny only whispered the name in Teddy's ear when he woke up sometimes and heard Mommy crying in the next room. She didn't think he knew, because she still thought he was a baby, but he was three now, and he knew everything. 

She cried when she should have been sleeping, because the baby died inside her, and he knew.  
…

She had already decided that she wouldn't tell Bob about the baby, because really... what good would it do? There had been another little Fraser in the family for nearly two months, then there hadn't been one any more. She told herself that it was a good thing really, that she had enough on her plate with Benny and her various patients, scattered as they were in all directions.

In the daytime things continued as always. She kept busy. Chopping, or cooking, or feeding the dogs, or checking the traps, or skinning, or visiting the sick, or mending Benny's clothes... it filled her mind with other things. But at night time it crowded in on her again.

There had been a baby. Then there wasn't one any more. Little Benny would remain an only child. And Bob would never know.

So she hid her face under the pillow and cried.  
…

Bob was bone weary when he came over the horizon, and saw the little cabin in the distance. Spring had finally sprung, and the snow was all but gone. Flowers were out, and the midges were already proving a nuisance. 

He had been granted permission to speak to her three times since Christmas, never for as long as he'd wanted to, and always aware that his superiors would be listening in. The last time they spoke she had sounded tired, something in her voice. There was a distance, as though she had drifted further away than ever before. He felt a slow clawing dread at that... perhaps he had left her too long. He might even lose her... because that was no way for a woman to live, waiting months and months to see her man.

After being debriefed he made his way straight to the barracks, and scrubbed up in the wash room, divesting himself of over three months worth of crud. He cleaned himself from top to bottom. He put his feet in the sink and scrubbed between his toes. He scraped soap through his beard and frothed it up, then shaved carefully. He ran soapy water through his hair, then shook it out to dry it. He pulled a face. No getting away from it, his hair was a bit wild... she'd have to cut it when he got home, get it back to regulation length. But for now that didn't matter. He'd done his best. He was going to look good for her. 

Once he was clean he dressed himself in his formal uniform, red serge, and checked that every detail was correct. When they married he had worn his serge. He remembered standing in the little church, watching her walk toward him, uncharacteristically shy, hiding her face behind her flowers.

He smiled. Caroline.

As he was leaving he bumped up against Gerrard. 

“Fraser, Bob Fraser!” The man sounded pleased to see him. “Well who'd have thought it, you son of a gun? Where the hell have you been?” Bob gave him a look, and Gerrard laughed. “Of course, you can't say... never mind. So, we're going to see you later for a drink?”

“No, not tonight,” Bob shook his head. “I'm going to see Caroline.”

“You can have a drink first can't you?”

Bob shot him a glance. “I can see why you're not married Gerrard,” he said wryly. 

Gerrard shrugged. “Your loss. You know where we are anyway.”

Bob nodded distractedly, and hurried on his way. He had a lift from the barracks to the town with one of the stable lads, and had already arranged a pick-up with Brady at least some of the way from town. He knew that he could have borrowed a truck for the whole trip, but he'd spent so long stuck out on the ice, he just wanted a chance to stretch his limbs, and feel free. 

So, Brady had dropped him off by the old mine, and he had gone on from there. And here he was finally, in sight of the little cabin, and his heart felt so glad as he picked up his step into a run.  
…

Benny was crying, and dammit, she was crying too. He could hear her in their bedroom, muffled sobs. That woman never cried. What the hell had happened?

Bob stood by the table, wondering what he had done wrong. When he touched her... did he touch her wrong? He'd waited, waited till Benny was in bed, waited till it was just the two of them... and she'd leaned into him, felt warm and yielding and then...

Then... what? Did he hurt her? She pulled away with a cry, and went stiff as a board in his arms. What was wrong? Why wouldn't she say? 

That's what happens when you neglect your wife, a nasty little voice thought at him. You can't expect her to love you forever if you keep running off on her. 

It's duty, he thought, she knows that. She understands...

Does she, the other Bob asked him, does she really understand? You left her alone. You left her and the baby alone.

The baby wasn't even a baby any more. And he didn't run into his arms this time. He stood looking up at him as though he was expecting him to vanish in an instant.

Well, maybe they were right, Bob thought. Damn it. Maybe they were right. Caroline didn't want him, Benny didn't want him.

It suddenly dawned on him that he hadn't had a drink this year. 

Bob left the house abruptly, and took the truck. As the engine roared to life he thought of Caroline, twice a day throughout winter coming out and turning the engine over for him. Listening in on the radio just in case he could call in. Saw her on Christmas day, with Benny on her lap, sitting in the front seat, waiting at the designated time, just in case... 

And the calls that never came. Day after day, after day, after day...

She deserved better. Benny deserved better.

Bob backed the truck out of it's shelter, and drove back to town.


	9. daddy drunk

In the end it was Buck who dragged him home.

“I'm sorry, Caroline,” he said, standing at the door. “I didn't do a good job of keeping him out of bars...”

“It's not your fault,” she was wringing her hands in the drying cloth, hiding the worry action with a pretence of housework. “You're only just back from assignment yourself. Is he...” she paused. “Am I able to talk to him yet?”

“Better let him dry out a little.” Buck looked carefully away from her, trying to allow her some privacy in the moment. “He's not in such good shape.”

“Damn it,” she swore like a man. “I hate those drinking buddies of his.”

“Gerrard and Muldoon? They didn't help matters. Muldoon's his own man, and Gerrard, well he's not got any important assignments right now, so they just make each other worse.”

“Are you working now? Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

“I'm afraid I have to work for a while longer, but I'll come back tomorrow and see how he is.”

“Thanks, Buck. And thanks for bringing him home.”

“You know, Caroline, just so that you don't worry about it... he never cheats on you.”

“I've never worried about that.” She meant it. It had never crossed her mind. “I worry about the drinking.”

“He's not that hard a drinker. I mean, he goes months without it.”

“But when he does, he can't stop. That's what worries me.”

“It happens,” Buck looked at his feet. “It happens to a lot of guys. But he's got something to live for, to be better than that for. When I see him tomorrow, when he's sobered up, he'll remember.”

She smiled at him, gratefully. “You're a good man, Buck.”

“So you and my mother always tell me.”

Buck turned then to his truck, and opened the back door. Bob was lying across the back seat, looking as helpless as a sick child. Oh Lord, she thought, why do I have to love him so much? Between the two of them they manhandled him out of the vehicle, and started trying to walk him towards the cabin. Bob jolted suddenly in their arms, and puked down his front, splashing them all with a copious mess of stinking bile.

“Oh dear,” Caroline said, looking at the state of his shirt and trousers. “What happened to the rest of his uniform?”

“I'll track it down, don't worry. Last thing he needs is to have to pay out on a replacement uniform. You know how headquarters can be about that...”

“I think he's finished for the time being... we'll try again.”

They managed to get him over the threshold without further incident, and were arranging him on the comfy chair when Benny walked out of his bedroom. 

“Oh, hello... Benny...” Buck cleared his throat. “Don't worry son, your Daddy's just... indisposed. He'll be better soon enough...”

“Daddy drunk,” Benny corrected Buck matter of factly. He walked up and sniffed his father, wrinkled his nose. “Daddy drunk,” he repeated, and sucked his thumb. He hugged his teddy, and walked back into his bedroom. From inside the room they could hear the squeaking as he bounced up and down on his mattress.

Caroline stared at Buck, wide eyed with shock. “He... he knows? Already? He's only just three... how can he know?”

Buck sighed. “He's a smart kid.”

Caroline straightened her back, staring at her recumbent husband, and shook her head. “I can't believe Benny knows...”  
…

This was the worst hangover he had ever, ever had. It topped everything. At first he didn't even register that he was back home, that Caroline was ministering to him. He was just so grateful for every drop of water, even though he knew he would just spew it back up.

Eventually the vomiting stopped, and the water stayed down, which meant that he could focus on the headache. Behind closed eyes he saw flickers of dreams, random images that made no sense. A frog in a metal mug, hopping over the rim. Men in serge marching across a bridge. One figure in pursuit of another, both running into a storm.

Dear Lord, he thought, I've gone mad.

By afternoon however he realised that he was quite sane. And that he would have to face the music.

Caroline had still not said a word.

Finally he summoned up the courage to speak.

“I'm sorry Caroline.”

She handed him a mug. “Sip it, don't gulp,” she said, and left the room.

What... what had he done? He wracked his brain. He remembered leaving her... what day was that? It was a Friday. And he remembered arriving at the bar, meeting up with the guys. And Muldoon and Gerrard being on fine form, buying him round after round. And he remembered them going out and squeezing some rounds off, just for the hell of it. Bits of Saturday... they stayed drunk all day Saturday. Cards, they'd played cards. And Muldoon introducing him to some lady friend of his, who tried to get all over him, and how he pushed her off. And then him sitting telling the girl all about Caroline, and how beautiful she was, and how no woman could ever hold a candle to his sweetheart. And he remembered the woman slapping his face, and leaving, and Muldoon laughing and telling him that he was hopeless. And after that he remembered... he remembered nothing.

And here he was, stinking with puke, though she'd obviously cleaned him up, and half his uniform was missing, and he felt like he was being stabbed through the temples and the eyes.

And that was an actual improvement.

He felt the mug in his hands. Warm. He lifted it to his lips, and sipped. Honeyed water.

Oh God. She was looking after him. Despite everything. Tears bulged up behind his eyes. He must still be drunk, he thought. He never cried.

“Caroline,” he tried to stand, then decided against it. “Caroline...”

She stepped back into his line of vision, this time carrying the boy. She looked so wan and tired.

“Caroline, I don't know what happened, I'm really sorry.”

“You're always sorry.”

“I don't know what you want me to say. What do you want me to say?”

“I don't want you to say anything. I want you to pull yourself together and stop doing it.”

“It's not that easy, I've just come off a long duty and you...”

“Don't blame me, don't blame your job. You're the one who chooses to put the drink in you.”

“Caroline, please...”

She turned to leave the room, and the boy wriggled on her shoulder. She put him down, and he walked up to his father. Bob looked at the boy gratefully. Benny looked back up, and smiled.

“Daddy drunk,” he said.

The bottom fell out of Bob's world.

“What did he say?”

“Daddy drunk,” the boy repeated.

“Did you tell him that?” Caroline was stepping outside of the house now. He yelled louder. “Did you teach him to say that?”

She turned in the doorway and glared at him. “No. No, I didn't have to tell him that. He worked it out all by himself. Now, if you don't mind I have to feed the dogs.” 

The door slammed, and punched a hole in his headache. He groaned.

Benny climbed up on his knee, and grabbed his warm water. He pushed the mug up to his father's lips. “Mommy made medsin,” the boy said helpfully. The water slopped a little bit on Bob's chin. 

“Get off,” the man spoke gruffly and shoved Benny off his knee, harder than he'd intended. The boy landed on his bottom and bounced, with a look of injured surprise. Bob was about to stand and go after Caroline when another wave of nausea hit him. He'd thought there was no way he could vomit again, but it came out in a sudden splash of sweet water, all down his front, all over the child.

Benny ran out of the room crying.

Oh God, Bob looked at himself. What the hell kind of a man was he? What kind of a husband or a father?

Benny's voice popped back into his head. 'Daddy drunk.'

That's what he was. A drunk.

He was disgusting.

He swore then, up and down, that he'd never ever do this to his family again. 

And he believed it at the time.


	10. promise

“If you ever...” Caroline sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady herself, “if you ever come home drunk again, you sleep out with the dogs.” Her voice shook, but her face was stern as ice. “I don't care what your excuse is, I don't care how cold it is, but you will never...” her breath made a hic noise with fear, and she almost choked, “you will never ever do anything to upset Benny again. Do you understand me?”

He nodded meekly. It wasn't enough. She thrust her face right up to his and shouted like a drill sergeant. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, yes, I understand you.”

“Because I've just spent half an hour washing your puke off my son, and trying to calm him down.”

“I didn't mean to, Caroline...”

“I don't care,” she yelled in his face, "I don't give a damn."

He flinched. “Don't you get that?" her voice dropped. "Don't you understand? I don't care. I don't care what your excuse is. Nobody does that to Benny, do you understand? I love you, but I love him more, and that's right, and that's the way it should always be. So if I have to choose between you and him, I'll choose him every time.” Her face suddenly trembled and tears started to her eyes. “Don't make me choose, Bob, please... don't make me choose.”

Bob covered his face, then looked straight into her eyes, utterly sincere.

“I promise, Caroline, I promise I will never hurt him again.”


	11. bindle stitch

The next assignment was easier. Easier on Bob, easier on the entire family. For some mysterious reason known only to the RCMP Constable Chalmers was called away, leaving the town with only one regular member of the police force... and Bob, being the nearest available Mountie was called in to fill the gap.

It wouldn't be glamorous work, but it couldn't be any worse than sitting on a block of ice for months listening to random mutterings on a radio while his wife and child learned to live without him.

At first Caroline seemed unmoved by the news. Whatever had eaten her while he was gone was still hanging heavy, and that whole terrible homecoming (how had he ever got so drunk?) still soured everything. But he lived in hope... he had to. And Benny... that boy's love held no demands. It was thoughtless, like a dog's. A dog always loved you, no matter what, and even though Benny was growing he still looked up at him with that hopeful devotion. If he'd been a husky he would have been constantly wagging his tail. Bob knew that he'd done nothing to deserve it. But... it gave him hope. Benny had forgiven him. Perhaps, one day, so would she. 

And after a few weeks she seemed to get used to his coming home. Not at a regular time... he had no choice but to finish every call out before he went home, and even though overtime wasn't paid it was a necessary part of the job. But still he came home regularly enough that she wasn't surprised to see him at the door. And one night, after weeks of him coming home sober, she finally relaxed into his arms. Afterwards she lay there with her head on his shoulder and cried. He just held her, and let her sob it all out. He had no idea what to say, and she didn't seem to want to talk about it anyway.

From that day on things got easier, and she started smiling again. There were days when he got home and she had left a note on the table. Nothing romantic. She was always the pragmatist. It might be that she and Benny had gone on a call out to some medical emergency, or that she had taken him to check the traps. Bob started to leave notes back. Little things. Things he could never say to her face. The kind of notes that he had written when they were first courting, and that he'd never dared to send. And after a few weeks of his leaving notes, he realised that she was keeping them. He saw them, folded and interleaved in her mother's big black bible, along with their wedding flowers, family notices. Their marriage licence, Benny's birth certificate, her parents' obituaries. All her precious things. And... it made him glad. He found that he could write even when he couldn't speak, and gradually the little letters took the place of his childhood prayers.

Sometimes she would be called to stitch up heads in the town, when a local bar fight or brawl got out of hand. Benny would run around the little station house, drawing irritated looks from Bob's boss. Meanwhile Bob and Caroline would throw covert flirt glances at each other when nobody was looking. She had started smiling crooked at him again, and he smiled back, as something like spring thaw finally broke inside him.  
…

Five o'clock in the morning and the radio crackled. He rolled, and groaned. He wished it was winter sometimes, when the thing was unreliable, so he could lie a little longer in the dark.

Grumbling he padded out of bed and took the call.

“Sorry to bother you Corporal,” (damn the kid who volunteered nights was over formal) “we've got a domestic, sounds nasty.”

Bob grunted, and took down the details. “I'll be right there,” he said, pulling on his pants. As he started lacing up his boots Caroline came out of the bedroom, with a look of resignation on her face. 

“Trouble?”

“Yeah, sounds like it. They don't call us out for a domestic unless it's really nasty.”

Caroline nodded. She knew it too well. All too often a 'domestic' was considered a private matter. She'd had to patch up enough battered women in her time, and seen their husbands get away with it, over and over again. Bob and Buck were among the few Mounties she knew who took it seriously. So, if Bob was called in, it must be serious.

“Be careful, Bob,” she said. 

“I always am.”

As he stepped out the door she lifted his coat for him, and he shrugged it on. He turned, and kissed her nose. “Give the boy a hug from me.”

“Will do,” she smiled, and lifted a hand. Watched him to his truck.

Ah, she sighed to herself, turning to the stove. I'm up now, so I might as well start the day. 

The battery on the damn radio obviously didn't need replacing yet, so she took up the leather work, and commenced to punching holes in it. It was too dark for this, she thought, and put it down frustrated. Her fingers were sore from yesterday's work of stitching leather, but it had to be done.

Again, the radio crackled, and she sat up startled. She'd fallen asleep with her head drooped over her bindle stitch.

She turned to the radio, fiddled with it until she had a clear signal. “Yes? Caroline Fraser here?”

“Caroline?” It was Bob's voice, serious. “I'm going to send a car up for you, can you have your medical kit ready?”

“Yes... what's happened Bob?”

“Andrew and Sarah Green,” he said, grimly. She shut her eyes. Damn, she should have guessed it was them.

“Did he hurt her bad this time?”

“They hurt each other bad. And she...” 

“What?” Fright caught at her throat.

“Well, she's in labour.”

“Oh God,” she leaned in close to the radio, resting her head on it. “I didn't even know she was pregnant.”

“Nobody did, not even Andrew. She didn't tell anyone.”

That didn't bode well. “Is that why he...”

“Does he need a reason?”

“When the car gets here I'll be ready.”

“Thanks Caroline. I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

Silence for a moment, then a deep sigh. “I'm sorry anyway.”


	12. baby

He'd started it, but his wife had finished it. Andrew Green was out cold, lying on the lower bunk in the cage, blood coming out of his nose and his mouth. Caroline knew she should look at him, but he was one patient. There were another two in the room who's injuries weren't as obvious, and she had to check them first. 

Sarah Green paced up and down, her hand on the small of her back, breathing shallow with fright, with her left eye swelled up and half shut. Her waters had just broken, and Caroline was kneeling on the ground, trying to figure out if the blood was just from the plug releasing, or if it was more serious. Looked serious. Too bright red. She turned her face up at Sarah, and caught her hand, gently holding her fingers between her own. 

“Stand still a moment,” she said. “I'm sorry, I need to examine you.”

Sarah stopped, and started moaning. Gently, gently Caroline approached her. The woman wouldn't sit or lie down. This was going to be difficult.

Even more difficult than she'd feared. She'd no sooner approached Sarah's groin area than the woman started screaming and slapping out with her hands. “Don't touch, don't touch...” Caroline felt cold. She knew how dreadful labour was, particularly if you'd no experience of it, weren't expecting it. But that flat out terror of touch... she'd seen that before, in rape victims. She froze, and sank back down to her haunches, then turned her head. Bob and the young volunteer were still in the small room of the station house. Bob had the good grace to turn his back. The young man and Benny were staring.

“Can you boys leave us alone for a while?” It wasn't a request, but the volunteer didn't quite get it.

“We have to keep an eye on the prisoner.”

“He's not going anywhere. I need to examine this woman, and she doesn't need a bunch of men gawking at her.”

Bob nodded, and plucked Benny up. “Come on,” he glared at the youth behind the desk. “We can take a turn round town, check out everything's as it should be.”

“But it's early, nobody will be up yet.”

Bob glared. “Get out,” he said. That tone the young man understood, and he scampered to follow his boss out of the room.

Sarah started pacing again, and the moaning took on a low keening quality, like the noise Caroline's Irish aunts had made at her mother's funeral. She realised that she wouldn't be able to examine the woman at all in this condition, and the most important thing she could do was calm her down. She glanced at her other patient, recumbent in the cell. His breathing was good, and his colour normal. He was probably unconscious as much from the booze as from the well deserved beating. 

She stood, slowly, and waited for Sarah to take a turn back in her direction. Keeping her hands by her side she said, “can I help?” Sarah nodded, face greying, and Caroline put her arms out, and slowly around her. “Shush,” she said, “breathe.” Sarah kept walking, and Caroline kept pace with her. “Like this,” she took deep breaths, “breathe, like this.” Sarah tried to emulate her, but the sobs kept cutting through, and the contractions seemed suddenly to be coming far too fast.

“Argh.” The woman stopped moaning, and began making screaming noises. Caroline stood behind her, slid her arms around her from behind, and braced herself as a contraction took the woman down to her knees. She really was screaming now. Damn... if she expended all her energy on screaming she would never be able to deliver the child. Sarah fell forwards onto her hands and knees, and finally stopped screaming, started panting. “Good, that's good... you're doing good,” Caroline said. Kneeling was good, all fours was good. She put her hand under Sarah's torso, and felt the bulge. The baby's bottom was facing the right way, but the little body felt dangerously small.

Sarah was now past the point of knowing what was going on below her waist, and Caroline finally was able to examine her. Fully dilated already, and... the head already crowning. The urgency of time took over, as one woman pushed and another assisted, just as it had always been, since the beginning of the world. Nothing existed but the moment between one contraction and the next.

With a swift slip the baby was out.

No cry.

Caroline pinched gunk out of the baby's nose and mouth, then placed her whole mouth over it's face. Breathe... breathe...

The umbilical cord was still pulsing, the baby was still getting blood and oxygen, but the lungs needed to expand. She had her hand on it's chest, could feel it expand and contract with her own breath.

Breathe, breathe...

There was a little hiccup, into her mouth, and Caroline lifted her face and held her breath. She hated having to slap them, but this one wouldn't cry. She'd been taught that a good lusty scream would fill the lungs when nothing else would. She held him (him, she noticed from afar) upside down and slapped his bottom. His face scrunched up, and he finally wailed.

Thank God, thank God, she thought, holding him to her chest.

“You have a boy,” she told Sarah, “a beautiful baby boy.”

Sarah collapsed, rolled onto her side, and looked up. Her face had widened with awe, and she lifted up her arms. She didn't seem to feel the afterbirth as she laboured to push it out.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, “baby...”

Caroline was kneeling by the mess now, tying the umbilical, her joy at the child's survival already swallowed up.

The afterbirth was torn. Badly torn. Too badly...

“Nurse Caroline,” the woman said. Caroline looked up, trying to hide her expression. She knew the woman probably wouldn't see it. The endorphins flooding her from the joy of her child were the best painkiller in the world, and she wouldn't see fear, or grief. Already the baby was suckling at her breast, mother and child both connected, the most natural and beautiful thing in the world.

“Yes, Sarah?” She moved up, to hold the mother in her arms.

“Don't let them... if I die... don't let that man get him.”

“That man?”

“That man, that man... that man in the cage.”

Caroline nodded. She could at least give the woman that.

She was fading. “They'll say, they'll say bad things about him, about his father. They'll say he forced me, they'll say that I'm a whore. But he was...” her voice was fluttering away. “He was kind. He loved me. I loved him. If I die...” Caroline was holding her in her arms now, baby and mother close to her face. She could smell the whiskey breath of the dying woman, and her heart felt sore with it. “If I die, make sure his father's people take him. Don't let that man... don't let that man...”

“I understand. I'll look after your baby.”

Sarah looked at her gratefully, looked back at her child, and smiled. Smiled like a little girl.

Caroline laid her gently on the floor and closed her eyes. The baby was still suckling greedily. Caroline did nothing to stop him. It was the last gift his mother could give him.

Only when the baby stopped feeding and the cord was cut did Caroline realise. She gathered him in her arms, and stroked his velvet head. Sarah was a rare blonde in this community, fair. Her husband's hair was a rusty red. 

The baby's hair was black. His skin was brown.

Oh God, she thought, and kissed him, covered him up. 

She stood and looked at the man in the cage, fury curling in her gut. She was shaking.

She would examine his injuries later, when she didn't want to add to them.

Stepping outside she looked down the street. “Bob,” she called. He turned, expectantly, then slumped.

She didn't have to tell him that she held an orphan in her arms. One look at her, and he knew.


	13. the neighbour

She knew she couldn't keep the baby, knew she couldn't even name him. But it was nice, for a few days to have him around. Jane, one of Sarah's neighbours, was still nursing, and came around with Bob in the truck, after dark. She would sit in the kitchen expressing milk into a mixing bowl while Bob took Benny out to play with the dogs. 

“You know you saved his life,” Caroline said, the first time she came. The woman just sat, raw, and didn't speak. She was a big knuckled woman, with a square jaw and red face, worn out with child rearing.

The second time she came, after she had finished with the bowl, she took the whining baby and put him to her breast. He suckled fiercely, and her face softened. Then she looked away.

The third time she came spoke. “If he'd been white I would have taken him. I could have said he was one of mine.”

Caroline nodded. There was nothing to say. There was no way a child of his colour could live in this community. Even if he could, how would it be to grow up hearing the things he would hear about his parents, about the man who beat his mother to death? Jane was taking a huge risk coming here, nursing the baby through these first few days at all.

The fourth day, as Caroline was bottling up the milk she heard a familiar tread on the path outside, and turning her head saw him through the window moving to the door. Her heart clutched, and she turned to where the baby lay sleeping, in a moses basket. Jane had stepped outside, was smoking. She heard the woman cough, then turn and tramp in the opposite direction, away from the visitor. 

“Oh Baby,” she whispered, and caught him up to her chest. Outside she could hear Benny prattling to the man, and Bob exchanging pleasantries. Not now, Caroline thought, not yet.

The door opened, and Bob stepped in, glancing apology at her. “It's time,” he said.

She blinked, then turned to collect the baby's little belongings. His bedding, his milk. The teddy that she had made in spite of Benny's enthusiastic and counter-productive help, formed from a winter mitten, real bear hair. She hoped his foster mother would know to check he didn't suck it and choke... what had she been thinking? But he had his face against it now, and really, really she shouldn't be so worried. It wasn't as though other women didn't know what to do with babies...

Murphy stood in the doorway, his hat in his hand. He was a big man, as tall as Bob, but broader. Strong in the shoulder, with big hands. He wore his divided status like a badge. A special constable, but he didn't cut his hair. A native, but he wore the uniform. 

“Mrs Fraser,” he said, softly. She bit her lip. If she didn't already like him she would hate him now for being the one to take the baby. But somebody had to... He looked at her from an impassive face, but with gentle eyes. Then he said the worst thing anyone could say. “I'm sorry.”

If it hadn't been for the sympathy she would have managed not to cry. To cry in front of these men, these 'Mounties', for Murphy was a Mountie if anyone was, well... it was intolerable. She had wanted to be practical, wanted to be strong. And instead she was holding the baby to her face, and making him wet. Stupid, stupid tears.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and knew that it was Bob. Blindly she held the baby out, and felt strong hands take him away. Bob put his arms around her, and she buried herself in his shoulder. She felt his chin rest upon her head.

Murphy was merciful. He didn't linger. Benny followed him. She could hear the boy beginning to cry for the baby, and Bob separated himself from her. He sighed. “I'll go see to Benny,” he said. 

She stood with her face to the wall, resting her forehead on the wood. And settled her breath, and didn't cry.

Jane had come back into the house. Caroline straightened herself, and turned. “Do you want a cup of tea,” she asked. Jane nodded, then sat, heavily, grunting. “Damned native,” she said, contemptuously, as she flicked her head to the door.  
…

Benny finally stopped yelling, and his father picked him up out of the mud. “Look at you,” he said, trying to brush it off. “You made a mess.” Benny glared at his father with an unfamiliar face. He looked ghostly in the clear night. The moon cast his shadow like a flag behind him, and he was covered in mud all down his front from where he had thrown himself and pounded the earth. All scowl and anger. Bob blinked. He didn't know what to make of this. The puppy dog devotion was gone. Benny bunched his fists again, and kicked his father's shins, pounded on him just above the knee. It didn't hurt... the boy was only three and a half, but it shocked Bob. Shocked him that the boy could be so angry.

For a moment he had the thought that he should do as his father would have done. Given the boy a no nonsense thrashing, and then talked to him when he'd calmed down. But Bob had never wanted to do that to a child of his. It had dawned on him one day when he was a child that the discipline left his father as miserable as he was. 

Bob just stood and stared at the boy, and let him wear himself out.

Finally Benny was just standing there, with tear tracks faintly visible down his muddy face, and no expression at all. Bob knelt down, and looked at his son. It was never too soon to teach a boy to be a man.

“Benton,” he said, and the boy looked at him. “Benton, it was for the best. Sometimes in life we have to make hard decisions.”

Benton looked away.

“Do you understand? We did it for the best.”

Benny looked at him, impassive. He blinked at his father, his eyes black in the gathering dark, and shook his head. Then he said it. 

“Mommy's baby died.”

“No, no Benny, he's gone to be with another family, people who can look after him.”

Benny shook his head, and cupped his hands over his belly. “Mommy's baby died. The baby inside.”

Bob forgot how to breathe. “What?”

Benny stared down at his own hands, cradling an imaginary child. “Mommy's baby died.”

Oh... oh, Jesus. Oh, Caroline.


	14. dog house

She still wasn't talking to him, and before long it was all over town. The Mountie's wife was giving him the cold shoulder, and he was in the dog house. Literally, though thank the Lord the neighbours didn't know that.

It wasn't as though he'd done anything wrong. He'd driven that woman Jane straight home, turned right around, come back home to Caroline and the still mutinous Benny, and tried to talk to her about... about 'it.' About losing the baby.

He really did intend to be gentle, understanding, he really did intend to listen to her. To be calm, and sympathetic, and strong for her. All those good things. But still... it hurt. That she hadn't told him, that he'd had to find out from his infant son.

And somehow it turned into the mother and father of all rows, her accusing him of never being there, him accusing her of keeping secrets, 'and who else did you tell, instead of me?' And her telling him not to be an idiot, that he would never understand, and him saying that she was irrational, unfair, never gave him a chance. And it went on, and on, until finally she said she was glad she'd lost the baby, because at least it wouldn't have to grow up with a father who was there for the whole world except his family. And at that point he kicked a chair across the room, picked up the teapot and hurled it at the window.

And as the pair of them stood silent in shock, surveying the mess, Benny walked out of his bedroom, thumb in his mouth and teddy under his arm. He stared at them with a blank face, then turned, marched out the front door, turned right and went into the dog shed.

“You see what you've done?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“What I've done? What do you mean what I've done? You're the one throwing things.”

He was about to say that she was the one making him do it, when suddenly all the domestic disturbances he had ever been called out on came crowding through his head. Good Lord, he was supposed to be the man of the house... he should act like a man, not some egotistical brattish little boy who thought the whole world revolved around him. She was the one who had miscarried after all. By herself, in the winter dark, with nobody but little Benny at her side. And here he was, a grown man, a Mountie for heaven's sake, throwing a tantrum. He was supposed to maintain the right, and dear Lord, he was breaking things now... who the hell did he think he was?

He froze on the spot, and realised there were absolutely no words for what he wanted to say. 'Sorry' just wasn't enough.

She crunched over the mess he'd made, and followed Benny out the front door. He looked at the cracked window, and the broken bits of pottery, then turned to the kitchen closet, and took out the pan and brush. By the time she came back in, with Benny in her arms, he was hammering wood across the cracked pane, to keep out the draft.

“I'll bring home a new pane tomorrow,” he said. “I'll fix it up after work.”

She nodded, but didn't say anything.

It took a long time that night for her to settle Benny, and Bob left them to it. When she finally came out they stood for a while, not making eye contact. 

“I'll get some blankets,” he said, after a while. 

She nodded, and looked away.

That night when he lay with the dogs he heard the shed door open. He kept his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. Around him the dogs huffed and shuffled while she tucked an extra blanket over him. When the door shut he lifted one hand to his face, and pinched high on the bridge of his nose to stop tears. One of the dogs groaned, and rolled, and started licking his face. He wriggled, but despite the warmth, could not sleep.

And when he went to work in the morning it was obvious to everyone that the man was in a foul mood, and over the next several days the town was putting it together that he was staying later at work than he needed to, that he was sleeping at the station house whenever he could... 

And if anyone needed a drink, it was Bob Fraser.

After that, things got worse.


	15. poached egg

Benny had stopped climbing, and jumping, and playing with the dogs. Caroline was keeping an eye on him through the new kitchen window. He was sitting by himself, watching the dogs, but not joining in. Bumble, the fattest of them, too fat for the team, but tolerated for his jolliness and good humour, wandered up to him, wagging his tail so hard that his whole bottom joined in. Normally when Bumble came up to him Benny would put his arms around him, and kiss him, and then find something to throw for him.

Not today. Benny just sat there, tolerating Bumble's sloppy kisses. The boy didn't even smile.

It hurt. It hurt in her chest, and twisted there. She didn't know if this was because Murphy took away the little one, or if it was because of the argument with Bob, or something else, or all of it. She just knew that Benny had changed. In some ways he seemed older, in his face mainly, in others younger. He stuck close to her when they went out, he stood behind her when Bob was home, and he was sucking his thumb more, no longer sleeping through the night.

It had never dawned on her, never for a moment crossed her mind, that Benny might have known about the miscarriage. She wondered how much else the boy knew.

The silence between her and Bob was becoming immense. She couldn't think how to begin to travel across it. It wasn't even about who was right or wrong any more. They had been closer when he was on assignment in the high North, just a voice on the radio, the two of them giggling in the night.

He was coming home less and less. Sleeping in the big cage at the station when there were no prisoners occupying it. She saw him, in her mind's eye, asleep on a metal bunk, with a thin strip of a mattress. Choosing that over her and Benny. And the last few times she'd seen him she knew, from the smell, that he was drinking again.

They were going to have to talk soon, if only to prepare for Andrew Green's trial.

She dried her hands, and stepped out of the house, stooped and rescued Benny from Bumble's affectionate ministrations. He didn't reach up his arms for her, didn't prattle, or giggle, or smile. He just hung in her arms. She carried him in, an unresponsive weight, and set him on his big chair, at the table. She washed him, with soap and warm water, and what Benny had christened “the gruff towel”, and he didn't say a word. Didn't wriggle away, didn't slop or make a fuss, or splash it at her. He just sat there.

“Time to eat, Benny.” 

He looked up at her, then down at the plate she offered him.

“Fish,” she said, “and poached egg. Your favourite.” It had been his favourite for a while now. Eggs were seasonal, and came around as a great treat every year. A couple of weeks ago he'd have been scooping the food up with his fingers, making a mess of everything, and throwing away the spoon she was trying to teach him to use. Today, he picked up the spoon, and stabbed it at the food, still making a mess, but not having so much fun about it.

This was her and Bob, she thought, this is what we did...

She didn't know how to make it right.


	16. murphy

The baby was a warm, solid weight on his back, and he couldn't tell if he was awake or not. He carried on talking to him anyway. “You okay back there? Hope you're not filling your diaper, I don't want to have to change you again...” The foster mother had been going to attend with him, but at the last moment she took fright, and so Murphy was going by himself. He didn't blame her. He wasn't looking forward to today either. Besides, she was probably right. “That jury aren't going to listen to me anyway... they'll just look and see a native.”

It was true, and it was probably true that they would look at little Edward (named by the minister) and see nothing but a native child, not care that he had lost his mother. But Bob Fraser was right, they had to try. Put a human face on this tragedy. Because otherwise the whole thing would descend into butchering the dead woman's memory and her killer would get away with it. The man who orphaned this child would go free. 

Murphy didn't have much faith in small town white justice, but he wasn't about to give up if there was even the slightest chink of hope. Sometimes people surprised you.

As he came over the horizon he saw distant specks. Gradually they resolved themselves into the figures of Caroline Fraser, and her son. The boy turned, saw him and froze. Then he startled to a run. Murphy's heart gladdened, then sank, as little Benny Fraser ran toward him. For a moment he had thought Benny had finally forgiven him for taking Edward away, then he realised that instead the boy had seen the baby on his back, and probably thought that Murphy was returning him.

“You know,” he told Edward sadly, “I don't think your big brother is ever going to forgive me for this.” Edward, of course, said nothing. Murphy shifted the papoose so the weight of the baby was more evenly distributed, then bit the bullet and carried on walking toward Benny. The boy was getting closer and closer, his mother coming up behind, with resignation and tiredness in her step.

Well, today was the big day. Trial day. Hopefully it would be worth the pain they were all going through.  
…  
Bob was sitting at his desk, scratching his stubble. In a little while he would shave himself, but he hadn't yet had time. He and Caroline had been talking in recent weeks, if only about business, and he was feeling... slightly better. More hopeful. 

More hopeful about him and Caroline. Not about this case. And although he had been reigning it in recently, he still seemed to have a permanent hangover. Not that anybody would have thought twice about it, not in this town. He was learning to hold his liquor, and that actually worried him a little. The fact that he was doing his job, and doing it well, and still getting through a fifth or more without appearing any the worse for wear... That would have had him on his back when he was a younger man. The fact that he could tolerate it seemed a bad thing.

Never mind. He was probably worrying about nothing. He was doing his job, and that was the main thing. And he'd been working flat out on this case. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.

There was a knock to the door at the same moment as it opened. Murphy was standing in the rectangle of light. He nodded a greeting to him. “Murphy.”

“Fraser.”

At one stage they would have have addressed each other by rank, but they'd got somewhere past formalities. Not onto first name terms yet, but edging toward friendship. Which under the circumstances was an achievement. The native Special Constables were not, generally, very trusting of their white colleagues, quite understandably given the burden of history. And to Bob's profound regret the RCMP, for all its many virtues, was still a bastion of prejudice. Special Constables were seen as a necessary evil, liaisons between the “civilised” world and the wild native population. Murphy had been nothing but professional and hard working, but still when he came into town there was muttering in his wake. He was not liked, and it was not fair. But that was the way it was, and Bob couldn't see it changing any time soon.

“Caroline is coming up behind,” Murphy said, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “She's in the truck, changing the baby.”

“How is she?” The question was out before he could stop it. Murphy's face betrayed nothing, but Bob knew that he'd just broadcast the state of his marriage as clearly as if he'd taken out an advert in the newspaper. At least Murphy wasn't the kind of man to gossip or gloat.

“She's fine,” Murphy replied. “Busy with the children.”

“Benny's come in with her?”

“She couldn't find anyone to look after him.”

Again, Bob felt guilty. What kind of way was this for a woman to live, serving this community for so little recompense, and still considered outsider enough that she couldn't find a babysitter? 

Bob looked back at the papers on the table, shuffled them, then scraped his chair back. “Could you mind the shop for me while I go shave?” Murphy nodded, and hung up his coat. “Thanks Murphy... and I know we've been through all this before, but could you have one more look at the notes and evidence? Just in case something dawns on you at the last minute that we might have missed.”

“I'm sure you've been very thorough, but I'll look at it again.”

Bob nodded, and stepped into the back to shave.  
…  
Fraser was sitting in the back of the truck with the freshly changed Baby Edward on his knee.

“You know, Benny, that we can't keep him?”

Benny nodded, and squeezed tighter. He was an awful lot bigger now than he had been last time he'd seen Edward, and for his part the baby was bigger too. Not as big as Caroline would have liked, and not meeting his mile stones as he should. But thriving, under the circumstances. 

Caroline sat next to the two little boys as softly as she could. The children were cheek by cheek now, little Edward putting his hands all over Benny's face. She put her hand out onto Benny's shoulder, and squeezed gently. Benny was nearer four than three now, and though he didn't talk as much as he used to, he seemed to understand pretty much everything she said. 

“We've just got him for a little while. He'll have to go back with Murphy at the end of the day.”

Benny nodded. Then he said, “the man who hurt his Mommy, will he go to prison?”

Good Lord, she thought, he picks up on everything. “Yes,” she said. “At least, we hope so. That's why little Edward is here, so that we can help put the bad man away.”

Benny nodded. “And Murphy's a good man. And he don't let anything bad happen to the baby.”

“That's right,” Caroline felt a little tightness releasing in her chest. It sounded like Benny was beginning to understand. “He looks in on Edward's new family, makes sure they have everything they need. So, you don't have to worry about Edward.”

“His name isn't Edward.”

“No?”

“No. It's a secret, but he's too little to tell me.”

Caroline pondered this information. Of course, Benny was right... Edward was just the name a white minister gave him for registration purposes, and his adoptive family must have given him a name in Inuktitut.

“How did you know that, Benny?”

“He doesn't look like an Edward.”

“What do Edwards look like?”

“Potatoes.”

She sat back, startled, and laughed. Then she dropped a kiss on her son's head. “Here, let me have him now, you can hold him later, if you promise to be good and gentle.”

Reluctantly he opened his arms, and let her take Edward. 

“Come on. We'll go in now, say hello to your father, and Murphy.”  
…

Murphy watched through the open doorway as Caroline Fraser and her little son made their way to the station house. The baby was resting over her shoulder, head drowsing sleepily, and Benny had his arm up over his head, hanging onto his mother's hand. 

Good people, he thought, the Frasers are good people. Bob and Caroline had just about knocked themselves out putting the case together. Compiling evidence, organising the photos, writing and rewriting the medical reports so that even a jury could understand it. 

He hoped their efforts would be rewarded. Not just for them, not just for the dead girl, and her baby... but also for his village, his family. If just once he could come to them and say that the Mounties had stood up for them, that justice had been done, and it wasn't white... well, it would make a difference.

After all, just because a fight was hopeless, that didn't mean you should stop fighting.

He stood to greet Caroline as she stepped through the door.


	17. side room

Bob waited nervously in the side room, pacing slightly. There was a perfectly comfortable chair, but he didn't feel like sitting. He tugged on the hem of his tunic, making sure it was as straight as could be. He and Caroline had just had a nervous last minute conference considering the pros and cons of which uniform he should wear. Either could look smart enough, but they gave out different messages. If he wore the brown he would be approaching them as a small town cop, someone who served their community and was one of them. If he wore the red serge then he would be appearing as a representative of power and justice. Over the previous weeks they had made their minds up, dozens of times, as to which would be the best choice of attire.

Then, with less than an hour to go, they started to second guess themselves again. In the end, they gave up, and asked Murphy's opinion.

“Red serge,” he said, “they need to know that this is a matter of justice, not just a small town squabble.”

So they deferred to his opinion, and went with the red serge. This time they stuck to their decision, and Bob was already regretting it. The damned thing itched.

The door opened, and Caroline made her way into the little room. Jane was with her, looking dour and put upon, but still, thank the Lord, standing up for her dead friend. Bob didn't like the woman, never had. She was belligerent at times, radiated disapproval of non whites, was known to get drunk and start fights with other women, and let her kids run all over town. But, for all that, he had to admit, she was one of the few people in this place who was prepared to do the right thing by poor Sarah Greene and her baby. He would never forget how he felt when he walked in to find her nursing Sarah's son at her breast, despite his colour, her big blunt hand cupped around his head, and her thumb stroking his cheek.

He found himself more forgiving of her since then. It was a shame she wasn't the most credible witness in the world, but she would have to do. None of Sarah's other neighbours would testify to the fights they had heard on a regular basis. And Bob was encouraged to see that today she was smart, and sober.

She was also shaking with nerves. Sitting heavily on the comfy chair she covered her face. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“Yes, of course,” Caroline saw to her. Jane took it, gulped, and grimaced. “I wish I... I wish I didn't have to do this. I mean, I know I don't have to, but, I need to. But... I wish I didn't have to do it today.” It was probably the longest comment Bob had ever heard from Jane, and it surprised him. He'd never really credited her with having feelings. She was just a chunky piece of the town furniture, traipsing through the streets with her children, and bags of shopping, yelling at her old man when she collected him from the drunk tank. A bit of a mouth sometimes, a gobshite, as Uncle Tiberius might have said. But not somebody with feelings.

He felt ashamed of his blindness, of never seeing her before.

“Don't worry,” he told her, “you'll do fine.”

A knock came to the door. Bob straightened, fiddled with his lanyard some more, shot an anxious glance at Caroline, then slid down the Mountie Mask. Caroline placed her fingers lightly on his sleeve, and gazed at him. Then, for the first time in a long time, she moved her face close to his, and let her lips touch his cheek. 

A kiss...

He blinked, and smiled, in the middle of all this mess, and took courage.

Tucking his documents up under his left arm he strode out of the little room into the wider, deeper space that made up the body of the town hall. On a raised area of floor at the end of the room stood an ornate wooden chair, scrounged for the occasion from the local chapel. Behind a plain wooden table sat Judge Rushton, still tired and cranky from his journey. Bob had never met the man, and could only hope he would be fair, give them a chance. Because, even though the facts were clear as gin, Bob had seen justice go awry in the past. And this one... this one really mattered.

He approached the table he had been assigned, placed his documents on top of it, glanced to the left, where the accused sat between two armed officers, then to the right where the jurors were arranged. The defence lawyer was already settled at his station. Bob pulled himself to attention, faced the judge, and cleared his throat.

Time to begin...


	18. expert witness

“Don't scowl.” Andrew Greene's lawyer had spent a lot of time trying to prepare him for the trial, but in the end the only advice which really stuck was, “don't scowl.” 

He was lucky, or so his friends had informed him. A man like him could not normally afford decent council. However, “given the social significance of the case” a group of local dignitaries had banded together to hire him a lawyer who actually stood a chance of winning. Mr Bury had breezed in, like a saviour, and told Andrew how very lucky he was to have him. Informed him that his case was very important, that men needed their interests to be protected in the face of feminist advances, and that he was a victim of bad luck, that his wife had cheated on him, and people should understand the pressures that he was under, that he was a victim of her infidelity...

It all sounded very plausible, at least the way the lawyer said it. Thing was though, the lawyer was wrong. Andrew was stone cold sober, and he hadn't been able to hide behind a blanket of self pity and scotch for months now. The lawyer was wrong. Andrew knew it, and he knew that, beneath the bluster, the lawyer knew it too. Mr Bury could dress it up anyway he liked, could trot out all the excuses he liked... Didn't change a damned thing. Andrew Greene was guilty as sin.

No wonder he couldn't stop scowling.  
…

As Caroline took the stand (not that there was an actual stand to be took, but as she took her position) there was a muttering from the gallery. Again, there was no actual gallery... there were twenty odd chairs for the public, all filled, and a ragged group standing three deep along the walls, watching proceedings. The town hall was packed today. She could tell already that this was going to be front page news.

Don't worry, she told herself, you've done this before.

It was true, she had done this before, appeared as an expert witness in a local trial. They were far enough away from civilisation that they could rarely get a doctor up to do an autopsy, and so she often found herself performing the post mortems. The medical side of it never bothered her... no matter how grim the circumstances, when she was working on the body, after the fact of death, she at least had the satisfaction of knowing that she was putting her talents to use, that she could do one last thing for the deceased. Find out why the person died... natural causes, suicide, accident, murder... whatever the cause it meant something to know the truth. It helped family and friends. And in a case like this, it could help put away the guilty.

No, it wasn't the post mortem that bothered her. Appearing in court... that was what scared her. It was never the accused who was on trial when she stood up. Because, the moment she opened her mouth, she was judged, and found wanting. The council for the defence tended to play on the fact that she was a woman, and a nurse, as though that made her observations less valid. Over the years Caroline had accumulated a huge amount of experience on the field, and she read obsessively around her subject every chance she could get, but unfortunately she didn't get much respect for that... not from the average jury member, certainly not from the defence. As a result she was compulsively accurate when she compiled her evidence, and very careful how she spoke on the stand. She had to be forthright, confident of her opinions, avoid the appearance of arrogance, and yet not give in to misplaced courtesy which could be read as weakness.

It was bloody difficult... far more difficult than delivering a child. Childbirth was honest.

She shouldn't be scared. She knew that. People did accept her testimony, after all. Criminals had been convicted because of her testimony. She shouldn't just assume the worst because some expensive lawyer turned up and gave her the evil eye. 

She knew there was no point worrying, but still... she was scared no matter what. 

Bob had finished introducing her. Her throat was dry for a moment, and she swallowed, trying to moisten her tongue. He looked at her encouragingly, and she began, a trifle abruptly, to speak.

Don't worry, she thought again, you can do this.  
…  


Oh shit, Andrew was thinking, as he listened to the nurse. It was the first time that he had really heard it, what he did. What had happened to Sarah... And when the photographs were entered into evidence... He remembered. Then he remembered. Oh, shit. He remembered it all.

Mr Bury, on the other hand remained unmoved, and got busy with the cross examination.

“You say that Sarah Greene was about eight months pregnant when she gave birth, and claim that she did not go into labour by natural means, but as the result of a physical attack. However, many women give birth before they come to full term. What makes you think that the marital disagreement between the deceased and my client had anything to do with the precipitation of labour?”

Caroline Fraser's expression gave nothing away. 

“As I already mentioned, the condition of the afterbirth. You've seen the photographs, showing the tearing of the surface. Sarah's body didn't have time to...”

“We're not interested in photographs. Photographs can be made to prove anything, and...”

“Objection?” Bob Fraser was standing, shaking his head incredulously.

“Yes?” The judge sighed. He seemed tired even before the trial started... equally tired with both parties. 

“The defence is implying that the photographs are untrustworthy. They were taken under the supervision of myself and two other members of RCMP staff, and with Reverend Dallas in attendance.”

“Quite. Objection sustained.” The judge sat back and gazed, bleary eyed at the defence lawyer. “Move it along.”

“All right then... what I intended to say was that photographs can be interpreted in different ways...”

“Not if you look at them objectively,” Caroline Fraser interrupted. “If you actually have some medical knowledge and know what you are looking for, then photographs like these are evidentiary...”

“Ah, and that's the important thing, isn't it? If you know what you're looking for...” Mr Bury turned around, and smiled at the male jury, then at the members of the public watching from behind. “If you know what you are looking for. And Mrs Fraser, while no doubt a very competent nurse...” he let the word “nurse” linger for a moment before continuing, “while a very competent nurse indeed, is not, as it happens, qualified to conduct a post mortem. She is not a doctor. And as such, she doesn't really know what she is looking for...”

“Excuse me,” the nurse was slightly pink now, her voice clipped but still polite. “When it comes to matters relating to childbirth, I know exactly what I'm looking for. I've delivered literally hundreds of babies, and I'm very well acquainted with what an afterbirth should look like. I...”

“Nurse Fraser,” Mr Bury interrupted her, smiling again. “You may stand down.” He turned to the judge. “I'm finished with this witness.”

The woman stood frozen for a moment, then let out a huff of frustration, gathered up her bits of paper, and made her way back to the side room. 

Mr Bury seemed happy as a clam, but Andrew Greene watched the Mountie's wife go. Stuck in his mind now was the image of that wretched afterbirth, and all the blood.

Bury, seeing his discomfiture and misunderstanding the cause, leant towards him and whispered, “don't worry, we're doing fine. The jury are going to be on your side, and the only real witnesses are women. One of the Mounties I can discredit, because he's married to the nurse... you'll walk.”

Andrew wasn't sure he wanted to walk. Bury didn't seem to care. Andrew covered his face as the man swaggered back out in front of the judge, and began to talk, again.

He just wanted it to be over...


	19. closing arguments

Peter Bury was feeling justifiably pleased with himself. Closing arguments for the Defence were concluded, and he had clearly summarised his case... that Andrew Greene had not realised his wife had been unfaithful to him, until she went into labour, at which point there was, understandably, an argument. She died of natural causes while in labour, and her husband was unjustly accused of murder by a midwife who lacked medical expertise, and had a feminist agenda. Local law enforcement were compromised by their close working relationship with said midwife, particularly Bob Fraser, prosecutor and arresting officer, since he was married to the woman.

It seemed like a pretty damning portrait of events to him. 

To be fair, the prosecution had put up a better defence than he had expected from a small town Mountie, but Bury felt that more of the Judge's decisions had gone in his favour than otherwise. The jurors were all men, obviously, seeming to represent the better heeled strata of the local community, and he was fairly sure that he had played on their fears of spousal infidelity and women's lib. The two female witnesses were hampered by the fact that they were female, one of them a slattern by all accounts, and the native witness, the Special Constable, really had nothing to add other than his description of the child's physical difficulties. They were subjective, didn't have to be the result of trauma during birth. And the fact that the man was a native meant that his opinion was pretty much invisible anyway. Of course, the actual client had made matters rather more difficult than they had to be, but then that was often the case with clients. Andrew Greene was monosyllabic, dour and lumpy. Not a sympathetic victim... but a victim all the same, as Bury had reiterated during his summing up. A victim of small town gossip, a philandering wife, and bad luck. The man did have a distressing tendency to answer the Mountie's questions honestly, but Bury hoped he had thrown enough dust in the air during his closing arguments to obscure the facts. He wasn't lying, exactly. He would never actually lie... He was just presenting the facts in a different way. Besides which, winning this case would look good on his resumé.

And yes, he thought, congratulating himself, he'd done a very good job. He put his hand over his mouth and hid the tiniest smug smile as he looked down at his notes. The Mountie seemed nervous as he prepared to sum up for the prosecution. And he had every cause to be nervous...

“Gentlemen of the jury,” the young man started, “a lot has been said today about the morality of the victim in this case, Sarah Greene. Sarah Greene was a married woman, yes, and she did indeed have an affair. However...” the man paused, allowing the murmuring audience who filled the tiny court to settle down. “However, she is not on trial here. Her husband is. We in Canada are not barbarians. We do not execute people for fornication, we do not take adulterers and adulteresses to the edge of town and stone them. The fact that Sarah Greene was having another man's baby would understandably upset her husband... it did not give him the right to beat her to death.”

For a moment the man ran out of steam, and Bury wondered, briefly, if he had finished. The young man had a lost expression on his face. Bury smiled again into his hand. The Mountie pulled himself back together, cleared his throat, and continued.

“You have also seen photographs and read medical evidence showing the extent of Mrs Greene's injuries. The council for the defence has made allegations about the expertise and impartiality of the nurse who attended Mrs Greene while she was dying, but you all know Caroline. She has treated members of your families. She has delivered some of your children, your grandchildren. You know, as well as I do, that she can be trusted.”

Bury sat up at this. He had used his closing arguments to forestall this kind of emotionalism, and had pointed out, again, the Prosecutor's personal connection to the nurse. But he would have to pay attention... because it was dangerous for these men to start feeling things. He wanted them to assume themselves superior, intellectual and elite. He didn't want them thinking about their families, or about how the nurse had actually served their community. He needed them to see her as an oddball, a threat.

He had done that... he was pretty sure he had subtly demonised her, and it should hold... But damn, the Mountie was good all the same...

The man was continuing. “By the time of Mrs Greene's death she had lost several pints of blood. Her ribs were cracked, and if she had lived she would have been at risk of pulmonary complications, since her left lung was pierced by a fragment of bone. Her external bruises and contusions were all too plain to see. Don't let the Defence distract you from those plain facts.” He sighed, and slotted his sheets of paper together, fiddling a little as he spoke. “Normally, as you have heard, a human body under such strain goes into shock, in order to save the individual's life. Mrs Greene was a pregnant woman. Her body did go into shock. She went into a shock labour, and the last of her energy was expended trying to save the life of her baby.” The man paused, and coughed. “Her baby, who will never know his mother.” He turned and looked to the door of the side room. Bury followed his gaze, brow crinkled, wondering at the theatrics.

“This baby,” the Mountie continued, “Edward Greene.”

Caroline Fraser was moving through the crowded room, with a bundle in her arms, tailed by her big eyed son.

“Objection...” Bury was on his feet, but the Judge hushed him down. 

“You had your turn,” he snapped. “Let the Prosecution speak.”

Bury sat back down, mute with shock. The Mountie's wife made her way up to the front of the room, with baby Edward cradled snug against her shoulder, finally standing so close to the jurors that any one of them could have reached out and touched the child. 

Bury looked at the jury, and realised he had lost them. Even the most hardened cynic among them was softening at the sight of Caroline Fraser in the role of Madonna, with that child nestled in her arms.

Shit.

Bury scrambled his thoughts together, trying to think of something, anything, he could object to. The one thing he hadn't expected was for the jury to be faced with a living victim. And it shouldn't have worked. That was what he couldn't understand. The child was clearly half cast... yet nobody seemed to be thinking “native”. They were all thinking, “baby.” Even Andrew, his idiot client, was looking at the child with moist eyes.

The Mountie was speaking again, but what he said seemed insignificant now. Bury let it drift. He had lost, and he knew it. 

It was no surprise to him, then, when the jury came back too soon, and declared his client guilty.

What did surprise him was the look of relief on Andrew Greene's face when he heard the verdict. As he was led from the court the man turned to the Mountie, and said the strangest thing Bury had ever heard from a convicted felon to a prosecutor.

“Thank you.”


	20. dancing

Benny cried himself weary that night, but he was learning to be good about it. He kept it to himself.

He hadn't made a noise when Murphy took the baby away, again. This time Murphy knelt down, and held the baby toward him so that he could give him a little kiss. The baby was the one who started crying. He thought maybe the baby was sad to be going, but Mommy said it was because he had a dirty bum bum. So she took him, and changed him, then tucked him back up in his blankies. Murphy swung him up on his back, a comfortable little parcel, ready for the road.

“I'll see you soon, Benny.” The big man had a deep voice like Buck's, when Buck came after the grown ups had finished talking in the big room and told him, “it's all over, champ,” and taken him to the store to buy sweeties. It sounded round and buzzy, like it came up from his belly.

“Yes, Sir,” Benny said. Murphy had helped the baby, so Benny shouldn't really be cross with him for taking him away. He was cross with himself for being cross. So he bit down his upset and his anger. He decided he should behave like a grown up man. All the best grown up men were Mounties, so he was going to be a Mountie for a minute, until everybody had gone and he could cry by himself. 

He stood at attention then, and saluted Murphy, because Murphy worked with his Daddy, and people saluted his Daddy sometimes. Nobody ever saluted Murphy, and that was silly really.

For a moment he thought he'd done the wrong thing. The adults had frozen, and Murphy, who normally didn't show much expression, was standing with his mouth open and a look of astonishment on his face. But then everybody softened, and started moving again, and Murphy was smiling at him. He returned the salute, was embraced by Mommy, had his hand shook by Buck and by Daddy, and finally set off into the distance.

Mommy turned round then, bent down, picked him up and kissed him. “I am so proud of you,” she whispered into his hair.

So he waited until everybody had gone, and it was just Mommy and Daddy left, and they put him to bed. And he waited till it was very quiet, and then he rolled onto his belly, and tucked his head under the pillow, and cried. He cried until it was time to stop crying, and he was just sleepy instead.

He was sleepy, but he couldn't sleep. Finally he rolled out of bed, and walked into the living room. Nobody there. He looked in Mommy and Daddy's room. Nobody there. He climbed up onto the comfy chair, and looked out the window.

Mommy and Daddy were outside, holding each other, and swaying like trees in a high wind. They moved together as though they were one person, Mommydaddy or Daddymom. 

Benny smiled, tears forgotten, and put his head on his arm. He watched them dance until he drifted into sleep. In his dreams they danced on, and he kept smiling, and everything was good.


End file.
